Lay On, Mcduff, And Be

Company, Villainous Company, Hath Been The Spoil Of Me.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness, And In The Taste Confounds The Appetite: Therefore Love Moderately— Long Love Doth So.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come; Love Alters Not With His Brief Hours And Weeks, But Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom. If This Be Error And Upon Me Prov'd, I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Lov'd.

What Though Care Killed A Cat, Thou Hast Mettle Enough In Thee To Kill Care.

A Woman Is A Dish For The Gods, If The Devil Dress Her Not.